


Closeted

by Sexxica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Coming In Pants, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, Hand Jobs, Lestrade to the Rescue, Love Confessions, M/M, Panicking Sherlock, Tight Spaces, Trapped In A Closet, Tumblr: exchangelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2955125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexxica/pseuds/Sexxica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An improvised hiding spot and a bit of accidental voyeurism leave John and Sherlock in an awkward position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closeted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doctormchotson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormchotson/gifts).



> Written for [doctormchotson](http://doctormchotson.tumblr.com/) for the Exchangelock Holiday Gift Exchange over on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I would also like to thank everyone from the [SHJW Writer's Circle](http://shjwwriterscircle.tumblr.com/) for their eyes and ideas and mostly the reassurance. They are all wonderful, supportive people and I appreciate them so much.

“Would you hurry up?”  John whispered, glancing nervously around the dim office as Sherlock rifled through desk drawers.

“It’s got to be here,” Sherlock mumbled, closing a drawer and moving to open another.

“Shh,”  John hissed urgently, hearing voices out in the hall.  He did the first thing he could think of and opened the door of a nearby wardrobe, shoving Sherlock inside, past a few suit jackets, and following quickly after, closing the door behind him with an ominous thunk.  They barely fit in the small space, pressed up close back to front, with Sherlock forced to hunch over with the inadequate headroom and a stack of boxes at their side. 

“It wasn’t that bad, baby.  At least the booze was free, yeah?” a man’s voice filtered through the door of the wardrobe, then light through the cracks around the frame.

“Yeah, I guess.”  Another man’s voice, but sounding much younger than the first.  “But, I still don’t see why I have to come with you to these things.”

John tried hard to keep his breathing quiet, even as the two men seemed to walk closer to their hiding spot.  He could feel Sherlock’s warm breath, steady and even, on the back of his neck and John shivered at the sensation.  

“You come with me because you look so good in that suit I got you,” said the older man, his voice low and seductive.

“Mmm. And it has nothing to do with how much I want to get out of this suit at the end of the night?”

“No one’s stopping you from taking it off right here, baby.  The driver’ll wait.”

John felt the colour rise in his cheeks at the conversation that was going on just the other side of the wooden door.  He didn’t want to be an accidental voyeur, even if he couldn’t actually see anything.  Hearing it was enough to make him embarrassed and increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Oohh,”  a breathy moan from the younger man made its way past the barrier of the door and John felt the air rush out of Sherlock’s lungs, ruffling the hair on the nape of his neck.

“Ahh,”  the moans continued, and try as he might, John couldn’t help but picture what might be going on just on the other side of the door.  Clearly the men had just come from some sort of function and the younger one was wearing a suit.  Still wearing a suit?  Maybe not now.  There was the ruffling sound of a stack of papers being tipped off the desk and a giggle from the younger man.  “Oops.”

“You know I’m making you pick those up after, right?”  The voice of the older man this time, although sounding a bit rougher than when they had first come in to the office.  There were more rustling sounds now and John shifted where he stood, starting to get twitchy with how embarrassed he was having to listen to this, and feeling Sherlock’s breath on his neck, the heat radiating out from his body.  It was such a strange situation, even by his now much expanded standards for ‘strange.’

“Mmm, no, no, stop.  Come on, take me home.  I wanna be in your big bed, not on your filthy desk.”

“Aww, baby,”  the older man sounded disappointed.

“No, get that contract you came for and then you’re taking me home.  But,”  the younger man sounded cheeky now, “you can do whatever you want to me once we get there.”  John could clearly hear the grin in his voice and the following groan from the older man.  “I’ll be in the car,”  the younger man said and there was a faint rustle, then the sound of the door opening.  

Next came a drawer sliding open, then some sort of click and more papers rustling.  It was only another minute before the lights flicked off, the door slammed shut and John finally felt he could breathe again.

“Well that was … something,” John whispered, still not willing to raise his voice any more than what it took to be heard.  Sherlock just hummed in response.  “Do you think we’re alright to get out of here now?

“We should wait just another minute to be safe.”  Sherlock whispered back.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”  John moved as much as the incredibly confined space would allow, trying to get his muscles at least one notch down from tight enough to snap.  He ended up pressed closer to Sherlock, and felt more than heard him gasp.  

John swallowed hard because no, it couldn’t be, not Mr. Married to His Work, Mr. Everything Else is Transport, not Sherlock.  John felt the need to test his theory and rubbed himself, ever so slightly, up against him.  This time Sherlock made the barest moan and John was absolutely sure that he was hard in his trousers pressed up against John’s backside.

John didn’t know what to do with this new information.  Was it just because of what had been going on between the two men out in the office?  Was it simply the closeness between their bodies, a physiological reaction?  Or was it him?  He had to know.  “Sherlock, umm, are you…”

“I’m sure it’s safe to leave now John, if you would open the door please.”  Sherlock interrupted, the words tumbling out of him in a rush.

“Oh, sure, yeah.”  John pushed on the wardrobe door, then pushed harder.

“Get on with it!”  Sherlock hissed.

“I, I’m trying,” John answered as he shoved harder against the door.  “I think it’s stuck.  It won’t budge.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”  Sherlock reached over John, elbowing him in the head in the process and giving the door a hard push.  Sherlock huffed and pounded on the door before he slumped again against the back of the wardrobe.

They stayed there silent for a moment, neither exactly sure what to do about being effectively trapped in a wardrobe in an empty office in nearly the middle of the night.  John sighed, “I’ll call Lestrade.”

 

* * *

 

 

"Yep, yes, thank you Greg. Yeah haha we won't go anywhere."  John hung up the phone, locked the screen with a click, making the too bright light of it suddenly go dark. "He's on his way but it will take him a little while to get here." 

John sighed again. He could still feel how warm Sherlock was, how close, and he couldn't help himself.  "Were you? Did that?" John stumbled over what he wanted to ask, swallowed and tried again. "Were you, umm, turned on by that?" John was glad for the pitch darkness of the wardrobe because he was sure his face was alarmingly red. 

"I don't know what you're on about," Sherlock said petulantly, but John felt him shrink back against the far side of the closet, attempting to create more distance between them. 

John simply followed him. It didn't take much, they only had a handful of centimetres to spare. John pressed himself flush with Sherlock again and this time Sherlock all but whined. He was still hard, completely hard. "I'm talking about  _ this _ Sherlock. 

John felt Sherlock's breath speed up. It was fast, much too fast even for arousal. Oh god he was panicking.  "Shh, Jesus, it's alright Sherlock. Here, here give me your hand."  John fished around for a moment until he got ahold of Sherlock's wrist, peeled off his leather glove, and placed Sherlock's hand firmly over his crotch. John hadn't exactly realized just how hard  _ he _ was too until that very moment. 

"There, now we're even."  He felt Sherlock still behind him, his breathing calmer but still rough, still making John's neck prickle with goosebumps. The dark and the quiet enveloped them, eating up a long, tense moment with John pressed into Sherlock's erection, and Sherlock's hand resting warmly over John's. 

He swallowed hard. "Umm, you could probably move your hand now." 

In what seemed like an instant, Sherlock had unzipped John's jeans and had shoved his hand down the opening, rubbing and squeezing John's stiff cock through the fabric of his pants. 

"Jesus! Sherlock that's not what... oh fuck," John groaned, his protest cut short as Sherlock's clever fingers pulled him free from his pants and wrapped completely around him. 

John let his head fall back against Sherlock's chest, his mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed shut as Sherlock jerked him off. It was crude and fumbling but it felt incredible. John couldn't remember the last time he'd had anyone else's hands on him. Life with Sherlock had proved to be the equivalent of a dating disaster, but John had never minded. Except he missed this. 

He missed the sex and the physical contact and being able to give someone else pleasure. He hadn’t even imagined that Sherlock would be at all interested in anything of the sort, until a few minutes ago.  But now he was breathing hard with his forehead pressed to the top of John’s shoulder and rutting frantically against him, letting out shaky moans.

“F-fuck that feels,”  John stuttered as Sherlock’s thumb grazed over the head of his cock, “ahh, Jesus, f-feels  _ so _ good.”  John moaned shamelessly.  He couldn’t help it, really, everything had happened so quickly that he was completely lost in the moment, in the friction of Sherlock’s hand on him, and the insistent bulge of Sherlock’s hard cock pressing into his backside.  

Sherlock whined into his shoulder, his hips pushing harder against John.  John pushed back against him, breathing hard and feeling over-warm and much too good.  He wasn’t going to last much longer.  Behind him Sherlock shuddered, his breath caught, then he moaned, long and low as the movement of his hips became momentarily erratic.  Oh god.  He was coming.  He was coming in his trousers against John’s arse and it was unbelievably arousing.  

“Fuck,” John groaned, “oh, fuck.”  His orgasm was on him like a tidal wave.  Sudden and violent and Sherlock stroked him through it as his body shook and spasmed, ropes of come splashing against the interior of the wardrobe door.  It must have taken him a full minute or more to come back to his senses, because when he did Sherlock was leaning over him, scarf in hand and dabbing blindly at the door to attempt to clean up the mess.

John tucked himself away gingerly, and it was just in time too, because there was noise getting closer, then the sound of the office door opening.  John rushed to put himself to rights as the light came on in the office.  “Boys?” Lestrade called out.

“In here,” John answered, his voice sounding deceptively level, even to himself.  Sherlock shifted behind him, reestablishing the small bit of distance the tight space of the wardrobe would allow.  

The door of the wardrobe rattled.  “Hmm, that is a bit tricky isn’t it?”  Lestrade said from the other side.

“Just get us out,  _ please _ ,” Sherlock said through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, just stand back, I’m going to try something.”  There was a bang that shook the wardrobe, and after a pause, the door that was previously stuck fast swung open with ease.  John gaped at Lestrade’s grinning face.  “Had one like this myself once, just needs a bit of a shove, really.”

“Thank you,” John sighed, stepping out of the wardrobe and doing his best to avoid glancing at the wet looking streaks that decorated the inside of the door that he dearly hoped Lestrade hadn’t noticed.  Sherlock pushed out behind him, pulling his coat close and holding his scarf in one hand as he went over to the desk.  He opened a drawer and fished around in it for a moment, recreating that mysterious click they had heard earlier.

“Idiot!” Sherlock snapped, “A hidden compartment. Of course.  Lestrade, you’ll find the man at his flat with the documents.  Come along, John.”  Sherlock said brusquely, striding out the door but still clutching his coat around himself.

“Yeah, you’re welcome too!” Lestrade shouted after him and John gave him an apologetic look before following Sherlock out of the building.  

 

 

* * *

 

The cab ride home was completely silent and Sherlock shifted around uncomfortably the whole time, avoiding John’s gaze completely.  When they pulled up to the flat he rushed out of the cab and inside.  John paid and ran after him.

“Sherlock,” he called as he bounded up the stairs, “Sherlock would you wait.”  John managed to catch him as he was hanging up his coat.  “Don’t you think we should talk about that.”

“We don’t have to,” Sherlock said, sounding on edge and maybe a little angry.  “I know you’re not gay.  You can just … forget about it.”  Sherlock sounded dejected now and turned to go, probably to retreat into his room, but John grabbed his elbow.

“What if I don’t want to forget about it.”

“Then you can leave, John, or punch me and leave, whichever you prefer.  Please, just let me go.”  Sherlock said, still staunchly avoiding eye contact.

“No, that’s not,” John sighed, “Sherlock would you at least look at me?”

Sherlock tentatively looked up and John saw that his eyes were wet as if he were about to cry.  “Would you tell me what in god’s name is going on Sherlock?  I thought you didn’t … do that.”

"I don’t.”

“Well you did, and it was with me, and I want to know why.”

“I don’t know.”

John let out a huff of breath.  Sherlock was being purposefully obtuse, hoping that John would give up.  “Yes.  You do.  Now tell me why because I am  _ not _ in the habit of getting off with someone at random or for some bloody experiment or whatever that was!”

“It wasn’t an experiment!”  Sherlock shouted.  Anger, good, that was progress.

“Then tell me why the hell you jerked me off in a bloody closet and came in your trousers like a teenager, Sherlock!”

“Because I’m in love with you!”  Sherlock yelled, then immediately clamped his jaw shut, his eyes wide and frightened at what had just come out of his mouth.

John was stunned for a moment.  That wasn’t something he had prepared for.  “You’re in love.  With me.”  John repeated dumbly and Sherlock didn’t answer.  John felt like he was playing a game of emotional catch-up, reevaluating every interaction between them, and how he felt about Sherlock.  He had shoved the initial attraction he had felt so far down that he hadn’t let a relationship with Sherlock, anything more than flatmates and partners in crime, even cross his mind since he had been flatly shut down at their first meeting.

“How long?”  John nearly whispered and Sherlock swallowed audibly.

“Since the start.”  Sherlock said sounding small, fragile even. 

John reeled inwardly.  Since the start.  Sherlock had loved him since the start and he had been stupid enough to believe his little spiel about being married to his work despite all the evidence to the contrary.  Every dinner together, every girlfriend frightened off, every time they had saved each other's skin or patched each other up after they hadn’t quite made it in time.  It was all so obvious when he thought about it.

“We’re both idiots,” John mumbled, reaching up to grab Sherlock’s lapels and pull him down roughly into a kiss.  Sherlock was unresponsive at first, stock still and eyes wide open as John kissed him.  But John just pulled him in closer, pressed his lips more insistently until Sherlock managed to realize he was being kissed. 

It was a lightbulb moment, an epiphany, and any other number of cliches involving sudden realization, because when Sherlock finally kissed him back John felt his entire body fill with a warm glow. He was in love too and had just been too bloody stubborn to let himself realize it. 

Their lips slid together clumsily at first, but it wasn't long before they found their own breathless rhythm. They kissed for minutes, enjoying the taste and the feel of one another, learning and cataloging each movement, each varied bit of speed or pressure and adapting to each other. It was blissful. 

John pulled back reluctantly, resting his forehead against Sherlock's and moving his hands up to cradle his head, his fingers twining into Sherlock's hair. "I love you too, you git." John smiled and Sherlock beamed back at him, all the fear and anxiety gone from his face. 

"Since the start?" Sherlock asked. 

"Since the start," John answered with a laugh and another kiss. These would be just the first of many John hoped. 

Of course, he would be right. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Don't forget to follow me on Tumblr!](http://sexxicawrites.tumblr.com/)


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